History Repeating
by Haruchin
Summary: Eight years have passed since the end of the first war. Paraietta is a fighter no more, but just a woman alone, taking care of a war orphanage. But when war returns, she's dragged back into the conflict. What can one woman do, when history repeats itself?


**Author's Notes**  
This is something of an experiment, and it may be a while in the writing, just to warn you straight off the bat. Usually I like to plot out my stories in a fair amount of detail before I do anything with them, and then do plenty of re-reading before I show them to anyone else. This was an idea that came to me very suddenly, and I'm not sure where the story's likely to go, nor how long it might be. If you like this, and you want more, do let me know, but updating may be irregular.

That said, I hope it all works and that you enjoy it. If you have constructive criticism or comments, I would very much like to hear them - that's what reviews are for, and all us authors love 'em. :)

So... Let's give this a shot.

**

* * *

****History Repeating**

**Chapter 1**

Let me tell you about my first. The first person that I ever loved. Oh, it took me a long time to realise that was how I felt, of course. I had always cast myself in the role of protector, as friend and guardian. We grew up together, and feelings change so slowly, from friendship to something more, that sometimes you just don't notice them. At least, not until it's too late. So, the first time I knew I loved her, was the exact moment I realised she was in love with someone else.

* * *

Paraietta laid her pen carefully across the paper, under the still-drying ink of the words she had written, and sighed. Neviril had been on her mind for weeks now, and finally she had decided to write down her feelings, in hopes of exorcising them. It didn't seem like it was going to work. The children kept her busy during long days, especially now there were so many of them, but when the evenings drew in her thoughts were drawn inexorably to Neviril, graceful, enigmatic, and her first, and only, love.

Eight years had passed since the end of the war, and the last of the Chor Tempest Sibyllae were sent to the spring. Sent being the operative word. Most young people went to the spring of their own accord, but those of Chor Tempest were ordered there, a vital part of the peace treaty that ended the conflict. They had had no choice in the matter. It might have been a negotiated peace, but there was no doubt that they had lost. Despite their technology, despite their resolve, and the desperate last battles that they had fought, the Chors had been outnumbered and outgunned, and in the end, they had fallen. Paraietta had gone with the others, ridden the train on a journey that seemed to last forever, and at last had stood with them on the edge of the spring, poised to make the one choice that she was still permitted to make. Would she be a man or a woman?

Paraietta brushed her long dark hair back from her face and got to her feet, turning her back on the writing desk. Her choice had been a hard one to make, and a surprising one for those around her, but she had never had cause to regret it. As she danced with Neviril for the very last time, she had seen the shock in the girl's eyes. It had always been assumed that she would be a man. After all, she had always been the guardian, the strong one. What else should a protector be but a man? The reason she had given… Paraietta smiled ruefully to herself. The reason she had given Neviril was simply that she wanted to be loved. That she wanted to be held and protected by someone else. What else should the protected be but a woman?

If only it was as easy as that. Choosing one's gender made all the difference in the world to oneself, but not to the world. Having been forced into adulthood, she had somehow expected that all the trappings of adulthood would follow immediately. To be an adult meant to be responsible, to have a home, a spouse and a family. That was her responsibility as a grown woman. Yet the right man hadn't suddenly appeared before her, and eight years had passed in her single existence. Her life hadn't been loveless, not with friends, and the war orphans that she cared for, but the love of friends and the love of a mother for her children was not the same as that elusive emotion that she had felt for Neviril. There had been no one else. She was suspecting there never would be. So much for adulthood.

She and her sisters-in-arms had sacrificed their adolescence to end the war, but the world didn't care. The world didn't change and it didn't remember, and now, just eight years later, that sacrifice was proved to have been in vain. They were at war again. On a slightly different side, to be sure; subsumed into a nation that had once been an enemy, but war doesn't change. The number of orphans at Paraietta's school had steadily increased as the weeks went on, and refugees were beginning to be seen around the towns, retreating from the front lines. The authorities had been restricting the flow of information – never a good sign – but there was little doubt that for them, the war wasn't going well. Rodoreamon's visits had become rarer of late, but she still dropped by when she could, and the news she brought had been getting worse and worse. The numbers of casualties were rising, food supplies were scarce, and worst of all, the enemy was gaining ground. The last time she had visited had been three weeks ago, just for a few minutes. She had mentioned a new site for the orphanage further toward the heart of the country, further from the danger zone. She would send word when the preparations and paperwork were complete, she had said. As yet, there had been no message.

A rumbling came from overhead, and Paraietta moved to the doorway, squinting against the bright light of the full moon as she scanned the sky. The noise grew louder, and then she spotted them, a flight of six Simoun, sweeping towards the front. They were theirs, she knew. Argentum had a few Simoun, thanks to the short-lived treaty, but they were few and far between, rare and valuable. When Argentum troops flew overhead, and there had been more and more of them lately, they were almost always heralded by the roaring of their inefficient engines, and the plumes of black smoke that rose from even their best-engineered machines. To see six Simoun together, a full Chor, that meant they had to be theirs.

She felt a rush of nostalgia and longing. She was a woman now, and her place wasn't on the battlefield. The sky that had once been her life was now denied to her. Another part of adulthood, it seemed, was that loss of freedom. Yet everyone was subjected to it. Everyone, that is, apart from the five. Limone and Dominura, who had completed the Emerald Ri Maajon and gone… somewhere… Jun, who had taken the place of the spring's guardian; and the last two. Neviril and Aeru had been Chor Tempest's memorial, the final expression of their defiance. They too had completed the Emerald Ri Maajon, and wherever they had gone, they had avoided the choice that had been unavoidable for their sisters-in-arms. They were neither man, nor woman. They, the last of the Chor, were girls forever. Their freedom, and their love, would know no end at the spring. Adulthood and responsibility were not for them. The sky would never close to them.

Was the exchange ever a fair one? Sky for earth? Freedom for duty? Boundless space for the stability of responsibility? Perhaps, with love…

But what did that mean? What did she know of love, who had only ever felt it as a girl, not as a woman?

Paraietta sighed and stepped back into the shelter of the orphanage's buildings. Somewhere in the dormitory, someone was crying, roused by the sound of the warplanes. Perhaps she couldn't fight to protect her country or the one she loved anymore, but she was still able to offer comfort. For her, for now, that was enough.

* * *

It was much later that she was roused from a fitful sleep. For a moment she wasn't sure what had woken her. The little girl curled up on her lap was still deeply asleep, her breathing deep and regular as she cuddled closely into the comfort of Paraietta's arms. Then the sound came again, a crack like a gunshot, followed by a deep rumbling growl. The woman stroked the girl's hair gently, and carefully moved her, so that she was cuddled into the cushions of the armchair. She paused, making sure that she was still asleep, then headed to the door. The latch lifted, and then she was out in the darkness, the moon having long since set. The air was clear and cold, and her breath misted in front of her. At first she couldn't see anything, then she spotted it, a darker shadow against the midnight blue of the sky, illuminated by a flickering redness that could only be fire. Paraietta stood, rooted to the spot, staring up as the shape came closer, then rushed past, just overhead. It was unmistakeably a Simoun. Its erratic flight continued until it disappeared out of sight in the surrounding woodland, but almost immediately, there was the sound of a terrible rending crash, and the shriek of protesting metal.

Without a second thought, Paraietta broke into a run, her shawl clutched tightly about her shoulders. It was a Simoun. The people inside it were Sibyllae, just as she had been. She had to help them. It took several minutes to reach the site of the crash, long enough for the debris to settle around the smoking wreck of the ancient technology. The Simoun lay on its side, its starboard wing having been completely obliterated, either in the battle or the subsequent crash. She looked first to the lower cockpit, the Auriga's position, but looked away quickly. The canopy was riddled with holes and black smoke rose from a shell hole that had pierced the side of the small compartment. The body behind the smashed glass was barely recognisable as human anymore.

The upper cockpit was another story. The glass was cracked, but intact, and the unmistakeable sound of a groan came from inside. Paraietta rushed closer, heedless of the billowing smoke and the glass and twisted metal that lay all around. She wrenched at the canopy, tearing the damaged mechanism open with sheer brute force. She sank to her knees beside the cockpit, now level with the ground, and reached out to the occupant, schooling her voice to gentleness despite the harshness of the smoke that filled her throat.

"It's all right. You're safe now. Just take my…"

Paraietta's voice trailed off as she stared at the pilot, her hand frozen in place. She may have been flying a Simoun, but this Sagitta was no Plumbum priestess or Sibylla. She was an Argentum. An enemy.

* * *

**End Note**  
I've always loved Paraietta. I think she gets a terribly raw deal a lot of the time, something that she doesn't deserve at all. I've been drawn to her combination of strength and fragility ever since the earliest episodes of Simoun, and I've been wanting to write something for and about her for a while. I hope that I capture her well enough here - that's my goal.

So, this is her story. The other Sibyllae might show up every so often, but they are strictly supporting players. Will there be yuri? I don't know. :) Knowing me, perhaps. I guess you'll just have to find out. You and me both. :)


End file.
